


we bloom in the dead of night

by smallbeans



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Leukemia, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: Before Polo's arrest, Ander and Omar broke up because Ander's coping mechanisms were destroying them both. With Polo back at school, Guzmán and Samuel hating him and Omar having moved out, Ander is struggling with coping with not only the guilt of holding Polo's secret, but also the burden of his new diagnosis.
Relationships: Ander Muñoz/Omar Shana
Comments: 84
Kudos: 266





	1. waiting on the rain

**Author's Note:**

> i watched the whole of elite in 3 days a few weeks ago and ever since i have been obsessed with ander. if any of you have read any of my other works you know i am a sucker for pain and angst and ander is the CEO of tragic storylines.
> 
> in this story, omar left before ander explained that he was acting distant because of polo's secret so in the beginning, they're broken up.
> 
> enjoy!

1

Ander’s body couldn’t have chosen a worse time to resent him. In the middle of an exam, he can feel the pulsating throb that had been sitting behind his eyes all morning become a pounding in his temples. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. When he opens his eyes, he feels dizzy. The words on the crystal white paper blur and the classroom spins when Ander looks up. He can’t help the small groan that slips his lips as his stomach flips and folds. Exam forgotten and effort dissipated, Ander drops his pen and rests his head on his folded arms on the table. He’s failed exams before, there’s not much more disappointed his mother can get so he supposes another failed exam won’t hurt.

It feels like he’s only closed his eyes for a second when the teacher announces their time is up. Ander lifts his head and he feels so lightheaded he could topple out of his chair. He presses the palms of his hands into the sockets of his eyes hard and wills the dizziness to finally leave him alone.

"Ander?"

He blinks and looks up: everyone has left. The classroom is empty and Miguel, the teacher, is standing in front of him holding everyone else’s papers.

"Ander, the exam is finished and you’ve answered two questions."

Ander sighs shakily. "Sorry, sir."

Miguel stares at him for a long moment before he rests against the table directly in front of Ander. He crosses his arms and looks down at his student.

"Ander, this isn’t like you."

Ander looks down at the desk. "Sorry. There’s just been a lot going on lately."

"I know. Look, Ander, I know it must be really hard to fall out with all your friends—"

"I think it’s a little more than a falling out, sir," Ander mutters harshly. When he meets Miguel’s eyes, the teacher looks taken-back by the comment. Ander shakes his head and murmurs, "Sorry. I didn’t mean—"

"No, you’re right. What’s going on is more than just a falling out. I’m sorry, I understand that you must be having a hard time," Miguel nods. "However, your exams are important."

"I know."

Miguel’s eyes narrow on him for a moment.

"Ander, are you sure there’s nothing else going on?"

Ander frowns, looking up. "What do you mean?"

Miguel shrugs. "Well, I don’t mean to pry but you’ve been looking pretty peaky lately."

Ander feels his heart begin to race. He shakes his head, forcing his lips to curve up into something of a smile. "I’m fine. Honestly."

"Okay," Miguel nods, standing up. "I just want you to know that if there is anything going on, you can tell me, or any of the teachers. We’d rather you talk to us than fail your exams because of whatever it is."

"Okay. Thank you," Ander stammers, standing up and grabbing his backpack from the floor. His knees feel weak and his head still feels like it’s going to float off his head but he manages to make it out of class without making friends with the floor. He forces himself to take deep breaths as he makes his way outside for lunch break.

Once he’s halfway across the bridge, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. Ever since the showdown with Polo’s arrest and Polo’s release and return, Ander has spent pretty much all of his time inside and outside of school alone.

Ander didn’t think it was going to get better after everything with Polo was out in the open. He didn’t waste his time kidding himself into believing that everything was going to go back to normal. He knew everything was going to be messed up, he knew Guzmán was going to hate him and the school was going to resent him. Ander couldn’t have been a worse person and friend, and every time he thinks about the whole thing he hates himself more than anything. The secret was eating him alive, but now so is the guilt and the shame. Ander can feel as many judging eyes on him as he walks through the school as Polo does, but Ander doesn’t bite back at them like Polo. Ander accepts that he deserves this, that he deserves Guzmán hating him and everyone avoiding him.

Ander is half way through his cigarette when he drops down under the tree by the tennis courts. He tosses his bag on the floor and sits with his knees folded against his chest. His head feels better, the dizzy spell has passed but the fatigue that follows it is hitting him like a rock. Rubbing his eyes, he wishes this whole phase would stop. The headaches, the lightheadedness, even nosebleeds have been happening for the past few months but he’s thought nothing of it. He used to get like this when he was younger and was anxious, so he’s putting it down to stress. He also can’t bare the thought of it being anything else. He can’t take anything else at the moment, and he knows his mother can’t either. With the divorce and the trouble amongst Ander and the students, his mother has enough on her plate with trying to keep the school mood alive and the student body not turning on one another with Polo now back.

Ander smokes another cigarette on his way back to class. He’ll keep denying his growing addiction for as long as he’s going to deny nothing is wrong.

He’s fine.

He’s always fine.

Ander rolls over for what feels like the hundredth time. He can’t sleep, he can’t get comfortable, he can’t relax. He huffs loudly, flopping on his back. He’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open but sleep refuses to consume him. Through the skylight above his bed, Ander can see the clear sky, black above him. Sighing in defeat, he whips the covers back and swings his legs over the side of the bed. His skin prickles with goosebumps instantly so he grabs some sweatpants and an old, oversized hoodie off the floor. Pocketing his box of cigarettes from the bedside cabinet, Ander makes his way downstairs and out into the back garden.

The cool, frosty air hits him like a slap against his skin and he shivers, sinking down onto one of the patio chairs. He feels like he can breathe easier outside, where the air is clear and slick, filling his lungs with a sense of freshness, blowing the cobwebs of his mind away. He lights a cigarette and sighs the exhale of smoke as he leans his head back, stretching his neck and looks up at the clear sky.

Everything is just so overwhelming during the day. Ander feels like an overflowing sink, like everything inside of him is bubbling and boiling, threatening to blow up. But at night, he couldn’t feel more empty. It’s like he’s a scooped out Jack-O-Lantern, scraped raw and left nothing but a shell. His thoughts are louder, his tormenters clearer and more consuming. Ander can’t decide which he prefers, because both make him feel as small as a grain of sand.

Everything is just so _hard_ at the moment. Being at home is hard, being at school is hard. When he’s at home, he’s reminded of how much he misses Omar. When’s he’s at school, he’s reminded of the monster he became. He has to see Guzmán everyday, the betrayal and hatred in his eyes. He has to see Polo, see the demeanour behind his eyes, the venom behind his smirk. Ander still hasn’t forgiven Polo for lumbering his dirty secret on him. When Ander gave him the speech about being friends and no secret every changing them, that was not what he was expecting to come out of Polo’s mouth. The moment he said those words, Ander felt his whole world crumble around him, and as the days went on and Polo was refusing to tell Guzmán what he’d done, Ander felt everything around him fold in on him more and more. It was like he was grieving Marina all over again, like he’d relived the whole trauma again. It ruined him inside and out, and now it’s all out in the open, the broken pieces are rotting away and leaving him no more than a void of himself.

He’d succeeded in pushing Omar away. Their relationship never stood a chance when Ander was trying to deal with what was happening with Polo and Omar was still trying to deal with the reality that his father had kicked him out. They both had too many problems and Ander will admit it: he has the worst methods of coping, but for him they work and Omar couldn’t accept that. It was easier to let Omar leave, to give him a chance of happiness with someone who deserved him than make him stay just so Ander wouldn’t feel so alone and ashamed.

Ander closes his eyes. The cigarette burns the back of his throat but as soon as it’s finished he wants another one. It’s a good distraction, for his hands and for his head.

Minutes turn into hours, and before he knows it the sun is rising and he has to go back inside. If his mother saw him outside so early, she’d worry more than she already is.

Ander refreshes himself in the shower and tries to make himself look as put together as possible for his mother.

Downstairs, his mother is making coffee when he walks in.

"Morning, darling," she says, smiling at him.

"Morning," Ander replies, taking one of the filled coffee mugs and sitting down at the table. His voice is rough and croaky.

"Have something to eat, Ander. You're looking thin," Azucena says as she places a plate of toast in front of him. She squeezes his shoulder, and Ander can feel her eyes on him but he can't force himself to look up at her.

"Ander," she says softly.

He hums into his coffee, "Mm?"

After a long moment of silence, she just sighs. Her hand falls from his shoulder and walks back into the kitchen.

Ander closes his eyes and swallows down the guilt and thickness in his throat. He's not hungry, and when his mother goes out of the room to grab her bags, he tosses the toast in the bin and joins her outside by the car.

They drive to school in silence, much like they have done since the Polo fiasco and Omar moving out. They still haven't talked about any of it, but that's almost pretty much down to Ander. He's getting good at not talking.

In class, Ander keeps his head down. He takes his notes, he ignores the mutterings around him. He wants to be suspicious of Guzmán and Samuel seeming to be hanging around more, but he doesn’t have the energy or the mind to try and figure it out. He’s certain it has got something to do with Polo, for Marina is the only thing that the two of them have in common, but Ander doesn’t want to get involved. He’s managed for years to stay as under the radar as possible when it comes to school gossip and commotion, and normally the only time his name comes up is with association with either Guzmán or Polo, and with neither of them speaking to him, he doesn’t need to worry about that now.

Scribbling his half-minded notes, Ander can feel his thoughts beginning to drift when something drops on his notepad. He blinks, surprised and startled. It drops again, once, twice, and he jolts into action just as the blood begins to gush out of his nose. His notebook is smudged within seconds, his hand wet. He gasps, pushing back from the table abruptly and standing up. "Ander, what—" the teacher begins, but quickly see’s the blood staining his hand and his shirt. "Oh. Are you—"

"I’m fine," Ander mutters, voice muffled as he abandons his things and quickly makes his way to the door. He can feels eyes on him, but all he can think about is the blood still flowing from his nose like a released faucet. He doesn’t wait for the teacher to say anything else before he’s running out of the classroom, now using his blazer sleeve to ask up the blood and prays none of it is getting on the floor.

The bathroom has never felt more far away as he crashes in and snatches handfuls of tissues from a cubicle, squashing them under his nose and leaning against the wall. He sighs, his mouth tastes like copper from the blood leaking from his nose onto his lips. He closes his eyes, trying to ease the sudden dizziness that’s swarming him. He’s worried if he sinks to the floor to sit down he’s going to struggle to get up.

_Another nosebleed_ , he thinks. This is getting annoying, and even worse harder to hide when it’s happening in class.

It takes 10 minutes for the nose bleed to cease but the damage is already done to his clothes. His blazer sleeve is soaked, and his shirt is stained red and crimson. He strips his blazer and slings it on the side and washes his face in the sink. His nose, lips and chin are caked in dry and fresh blood before he cleans it off with some water. He fills his palm with water and downs it, hoping it will help with the lightheadedness enough that he can get to his locker to get his spare clean shirt.

He gets changed in the locker room, ridding the physical evidence of the fiasco. He puts on his gym fleece that he used to wear for tennis. It's the school colours; hopefully no one will see much notice. After shoving his blazer and dirty shirt in his locker, he gets back to class just before it's finishing.

When he walks in, he stops as all the beading eyes land on him.

"Uh," he clears his throat, looking at the teacher. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," the teacher replies. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Ander mutters as he makes his way back to his seat.

He sighs when he sees his notebook: the page is ruined and the notes are unreadable. He rips the page out and crunches it defeated into a ball.

He doesn't bother writing notes for the next ten minutes of class, instead he just rubs his temples and wills the headache brewing to go away.

When the bell rings, Rebeca turns to him and says, "Do you want to take a photo of my notes? Yours are kind of ruined."

Ander sighs. "Do you mind?"

"I wouldn't be offering if I did," she shrugs.

Ander nods in gratitude, pulling out his phone. "Thank you."

"No problem," Rebeca replies. "Are you. . . are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Ander insists, pocketing his phone with the photos of her notes. "Honest. Thank you for the notes, I appreciate it."

"No worries," Rebeca murmurs, watching him closely. "Do you—"

"Rebeca," the teacher interrupts, "may I have a moment with Ander please."

Rebeca looks like she’s going to protest. Her mouth opens, words about to come out before she sighs, clicking her tongue and muttering, "Fine," under her breath. She gathers her books and her bag, standing up. "See you, Ander."

"Bye," he murmurs, watching her go. He looks up at the teacher, who’s still standing at the front of the class, sitting on the desk.

"That was a hell of a nose bleed, Ander," she says. "Is there anything we should be worried about?"

Ander stands up, picking up his rucksack and coming to the front of the class.

"No," he shakes his head. "It hasn’t happened before. I don’t know what it was about, but I feel fine. It’s nothing to worry about."

She hums, staring at him, her gaze calculating. "Are you sure?"

He nods.

"Alright. I’m reluctant to tell your mother about this, but I must remind yourself that you are not a child," she explains. "Perhaps you should consider talking to someone. Nosebleeds can sometimes be caused by stressed, perhaps from exams or something else."

Ander nods. "Okay. Thank you."

He braces himself as he walks out. He feels exhausted already as it’s not even lunch yet. He has to force himself to pick up his feet as he makes his way to his locker. This is the second time in two weeks that he’s been held back and spoken to teachers moderately concerned about him and his studies. It’s not going to be long before one of them talks to his mother, and then a whole new can of worms is going to break open.

He unlocks his locker and grabs the bottle of water sitting in the back just as someone smacks against the locker next to him.

Valerio smiles at him, tilting his head and leaning his whole body on the wall of lockers.

Ander looks at him. "Hello, Valerio."

"Ander, a pleasure. You look much better than you did in class; though not going to lie, you look very hot covered in blood. Very _macho_."

Valerio wiggles his eyebrows and grins, teasing his bottom lip.

Ander sighs tiredly, his lips tightening. "Is there something you want?"

"I'm just saying you've been looking fairly rough recently and in sight of you also having a considerably large nose bleed in class today, the only people I know who have those are people who get by with a little bit of. . ." Valerio taps his nose and smirks. "Anything you want to tell me?"

Ander narrows his eyes. _Is this guy serious?_ He thinks bitterly.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Hey!" Valerio laughs and throws up his hands, "I'm only saying this because as a friend, it's always fun to do that kind of stuff with company."

"Yeah, well," Ander shuts his locker harshly, "thanks but no. See you, Valerio."

He turns around and walks off before Valerio can stop him.

Nothing happens in the next week, but the following Friday, Ander see’s something when he’s showering that makes him all the more worried about the nosebleeds and headaches. It’s barely a lump on his groin, and he manages to shove it out of his mind until later that night when he passes out while he’s brushing his teeth and almost brains himself on the sink.

The following morning, Ander makes the call and his appointment at the doctors is scheduled.

_— tbc._


	2. sold my soul to the devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the response to this story! the beginning is going to be a lot of ander-angst and him suffering in silence but who doesn't love a bit of that before fluff and love and cuteness, riiiight? ;)

2

Nothing else seems to happen the following couple of days after the appointment. It just seems to be a repeat of the last few months: suffer in silence and try to act as if everything is normal. He misses a party over the weekend, another classic drunken facade in the club Omar works in. Ander has lots of reasons why he doesn’t even think about turning up anymore, but the main one seems to be that unless he has class, he can’t seem to force himself to get out of bed, nor does he want to. He’s exhausted and energy-less all the time, yet he barely sleeps. He just lays there, either staring up through the skylight or his closed eyelids.

He daydreams through his first load of classes, trying to keep from his mind what everyone is talking about: the court hearing tomorrow. Ander doesn’t know precise details, but he’s heard enough through the grapevine that it’s for Carla and Polo to dish out their own sides of the story to help the judge and the detectives decide on a guilty party.

Ander doesn’t know what possessed Carla to do it, but none the less he doesn’t care. She did something he was too afraid and weak to do and for that, he will always, _always_ have a new found respect for the girl.

Ander is at his locker at lunch time when someone comes storming up beside him. Guzmán’s face looks twisted and pained, as if the bare idea of talking to Ander is causing him physical grief.

"Oi."

His word is sharp and cutting, as if he’s talking to a stranger.

Ander blinks, surprised. "Uh, hello?"

"Tomorrow, at the court, if you have any decency left you’ll tell the judge—"

Ander’s phone chimes and he glances down, just to see who it is and for a moment, he loses his breath. It’s the hospital, leaving him the most ominous message that he has to go in to discuss the results. If it was nothing to worry about, surely they’d tell him over the phone?

"Hey!" Guzmán shouts. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Uh, sorry," Ander stammers, "It’s kind of important."

Guzmán raises an eyebrow, gaze hardening. "Texting Omar is more important that the court case?"

Ander frowns, looking down at the text again. They want him to go in tomorrow. "It’s not Omar."

"Forget it then. Listen, can you come to the court or not?"

Ander shakes his head. "I can’t tomorrow."

"Are you serious?"

"Look, this isn’t a good time—"

"Fine," Guzmán growls. "Fuck you, then."

Guzmán turns around and begins walking away, and Ander’s breath is caught in his throat. "Guzmán—"

"Piss off, Ander!"

Sighing, Ander rests his head against the cool metal of the locker. He looks back down at his phone.

 _It’s probably nothing_ , he tells himself. _It has to be nothing._

He goes outside for lunch. He doesn’t have the stomach for food after seeing the text and his confrontation with Guzmán so he smokes a couple of cigarettes and closes his eyes to allow his skin to drink up as much skin as possible.

Later that night, he plays with his food and leaves his dinner barely touched when he excuses himself to go upstairs. He can see his mother about to protest, to confront him but he simply kisses her cheek, thanks her for the food and resides to his room.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night.

The next day, he skips his second period and hides in the library where he forces his barely focusing eyes to read a text book. He tries desperately to work on some class work that he’d lacked in the last couple of weeks but time flies before this very eyes and before he knows it, the library begins to fill up with students who study during lunch.

Ander keeps his eyes on his book, his head practically buried in it but the words he reads aren't going in in the slightest. He's just killing time now and he knows it. All he can think about is what is going to happen after school. Between the court hearing and the clinic appointment, he can barely string two other thoughts together before his mind boomerangs back to them.

"Ander."

Without looking up, Ander recognises the voice. Inside, he can feel his almost nonexistant will deflating even more. Why won't anyone leave him alone today?

"What do you want, Polo?"

"How are you?"

Ander sighs, looking up. "Is that what we’re doing now? Small talk?"

Polo shrugs one shoulder and says nothing. He's standing in front of Ander on the other side of the table. His arms hang limply by his side and his lips are pulled down in a frown.

Ander chuckles humorlessly, leaning back in his chair. "I’m fine. What about you?"

Polo stares at him for another long moment before he abruptly pulls out the chair opposite Ander and sits down. He crosses his arms and stares at Ander intensely. "I need your help."

Ander scoffs, shaking his head. "No. No, no. The last time you asked for my help, you ruined both our lives."

"You told me that whatever I had to tell you wouldn’t change us," Polo whispers.

"Jesus, Polo!" Ander throws his hands up. "I thought you were going to talk about your college choices or that you’d come out as gay, not that you’d murdered our best friends sister."

Polo sighs and runs and hand through his hair. He licks his lips, "I need your help talking to Guzmán."

"Are you delusional?"

"What?"

"Why would you think I could help you talk to Guzmán?"

"Because. . . we’re his best friends—"

"Were," Ander corrects. "We _were_ his best friends. Then you killed his sister and I protected you and ka-boom, friendship evaporated."

Ander stands up, taking the book he’d been reading from back to the shelf beside the table he’s been working at.

"Don’t you want things to go back to the way they were?" Polo asks.

Ander sighs and closes his eyes, his back still to the other teen. "Of course I do. There’s a lot of things I want to go back to the way they were, but we can’t turn back time."

"But we can fix this, don’t you see? I just need your help, we can talk to Guzmán and convince him to stop trying to frame me."

"'Frame you'?" Ander laughs bitterly, turning around.

"Him and Samuel are doing everything they can to get the detectives to arrest me—"

"And so they should!" Ander almost shouts. "You’re not innocent, Polo!"

"Shut up!" Polo stands up, the chair falling behind him with a clatter. "I can't go to prison. I. . . I can't. . ."

"This won't stop, Polo. This isn't going to go away. You're going to be lying about this, running from this for the rest of your life," Ander says. "Aren't you tired of it already?"

Polo hangs his head but doesn't say anything.

"Leave me alone, Polo," Ander mutters.

"Ander, please—"

"Polo, get this through your thick skull," Ander snaps, "Guzmán isn’t going to forgive you, he isn’t going to forgive me. You murdered his fucking sister and I kept it from him because I’m a coward. Okay? There isn’t going to be any 'making up', or any fucking forgiving. Give up and leave him alone. You did this, deal with the fucking consequences and leave me alone."

"You can’t give up on our friendship that easy—"

"There’s no friendship to go back to, Polo!" Ander cries. "It’s over. We’re done. Finished. The end."

"You’re just going to give up that easy?"

Ander sighs, running a hand through his hair. "What is there to do? Huh? Every time he see’s me I can see the anger building again. He hates me, and he should. He hates you too, just leave him alone."

"Are you coming to the court this afternoon?"

"Why would I?"

"Because you can defend me," Polo’s jaw clenches, "or you can turn me in like you keep insisting you should have done."

Ander huffs. "You have Carla for that."

"Carla’s the one who turned me into the police the first time!"

"Because Carla is the only one who clearly has any damn balls! We were both too cowardly to do so," Ander snaps.

"Everyone has turned against me," Polo says. "I need someone there who’s going to be a support instead of a battle."

"That’s what you have Caye for, isn’t it? Or are you just shagging her to help you sleep at night?"

"Fuck you," Polo growls. He leans forward, seething through his teeth. " _Fuck you,_ Ander."

"Leave me out of it, Polo," Ander sighs. "We've hurt enoughpeople already."

Ander holds Polo's gaze despite knowing his expressions shows nothing but the defeat he feels. Polos glare is harsh and fighting, burning bright with anger.

He grumbles, turning abruptly and leaving the library. Ander sighs, shoulders slumping and body deflating like a punctured balloon. He sees movement to his side and sees Samuel standing at the end of the book isle, frowning at Ander.

Ignoring him, Ander collapses into his chair and presses the heals of his palms into his eyes. He forces his lungs to work, to allow air in and out like normal. He doesn't know when Samuel disappears, but he's relieved when he looks up and sees him gone.

Leukaemia.

Correction! An _aggressive_ form of leukaemia. As if having cancer isn't enough, it has to be the aggressive kind that means he has to immediately throw himself into intense chemotherapy.

Ander has never known anyone with cancer, and he's been fortunate enough up till now. When the doctor explains the side effects of the chemo, Ander recognises them in his head but his heart is pounding too loud to comprehend them. He knows what the doctor is saying but he can barely hear him, can barely follow the stuff he's saying because all his mind is saying to him is _cancer cancer cancer cancer._

"W-wait," Ander stammers, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands.

The doctor is silent for a moment. "Ander, do you have any family we can call?"

Ander lets out a shaky breath. He isn't ready to tell his mother, not this. He can't bare the idea of slapping her with this burden.

"This is a lot to go through alone. Emotionally and physically, this is going to be a very hard battle," the doctor says softly. "I can't express enough how much you are going to need your loved ones support. They deserve to know too, this is a big secret to keep from them."

Ander nods but doesn't say anything.

"You won't be able to hide it for long too. The effects of chemotherapy can start showing as soon as your first session. Things like your hair falling out can take anywhere between two and four weeks, but almost immediately after your sessions you are going to feel sick, you're going to be tired, too tired to do anything."

"Okay," Ander whispers, finally lifting his head. His eyes are red but the tears won't spill.

"I'm sorry, Ander."

Ander bites his lip and closes his eyes.

"Okay."

It's a long walk home. Ander doesn't have the motivation to call for a taxi like he did to get there. He kind of wants the walk anyways, he appreciates the time it gives him to clear his head and gather himself enough that his mother won't suspect anything.

The doctor is right, Ander should tell his mother, and he's almost convinced himself to do so until he walks into his house, and sees his mother cooking in the kitchen.

She smiles at him as he walks in, "Hey, you."

"Pancakes for dinner, mama?" He asks, walking up beside her and kissing her cheek.

"Well, I figured we'd need a treat after today," she replies. "Where have you been? Did you go to the court hearing."

Ander sighs and steps back, leaning against the kitchen cupboards. "Uh, no. No I didn't."

"No?" Azucena seems surprised. "Oh. Where did you go then?"

"I was just walking about. I couldn't go in the end."

Azucena looks at him sadly. "Oh, love. I haven't heard anything but I'm sure I will soon."

Ander smiles but he knows it's tight lipped. He's not sure if he wants to know what happened at the court hearing. He trusts that Carla would have done the right thing, but at the same time the girl has more pressure on her than anyone even without her parents breathing down her neck. Ander has no idea what she's done at the hearing, and he's not looking forward to hearing about it tomorrow.

"I’m going to go and freshen up before we eat, okay?"

"Alright, love. Be quick, they’re almost done."

Ander nods and quickly takes the stairs two at a time. He escapes into his room just in time for his lungs to burn. Breathing seems to be hard, and he feels like he has a vice around his chest that keeps squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

He leans against his closed door. His eyes fall close exhaustedly and he forces himself to breathe in time with his counting. He didn’t think, after everything that’s already happened, that he could possibly feel more tired than he already has been but as he leans against the door, he can’t find the energy to keep his legs from going weak.

The appointment at the clinic feels like it happened a decade ago but in reality, it’s barely been a few hours. The surprise of it hit Ander like a freight train, but he also thinks there is more realisation to come. Right now, he’s pretty sure he’s in enough shock that he hasn’t fully comprehended what he has been loaded with.

"Ander! It’s ready!"

He sucks in a big breath and it comes out shaky. He wipes a hand down his face roughly and pushes off the door.

"Okay," he shouts back, but it’s wavering and wobbly like he’s almost on the verge of tears.

Downstairs, he manages to pull himself together enough to please his mother. He’s actually proud of the performance he puts on for her, acting as normal as he can remember. They eat together, manage to find conversation that doesn’t include either school, Polo or his father (the subject of the divorce is still very raw with his mother).

Azucena sure seems to enjoy it at least. Ander isn't sure how they end up on the back patio, a glass of wine each and talking about Azucena's childhood because that seems to be the only subject in the end that doesn't remind Ander of his new found fate. It's the most relaxed Ander has seen his mother in a long time, and he hopes he's been able to restore even a little bit of his mother's faith in him.

His mother retires to bed well after the sun has gone down. Ander says he'll go up soon after her, and when he's sure she's settled he pulls out his box and lights a cigarette.

Ander’s phone rings, and it takes him almost to the end of the cycle to look down at who it is. The only people who ring him anymore is his mother or Polo, so he’s very surprised when he see’s Caye’s name flashing on his phone.

"Caye?" He answers.

"Ander, I need your help," Caye blurts out. She sounds out of breath. "Polo has crashed the club and I’m scared someones going to make a scene."

Ander blinks. "What?"

"He’s _here_. He’s at the club where everyone else is. He’s drunk, Ander. He’s absolutely wasted and I can just _feel_ that something is going to happen."

Ander shakes his head despite her not being able to actually see him. "I don’t know what you want me to do—"

"You need to come and sort him out, Ander. He won’t listen to me, he hasn’t even spoken to me all day," Caye cries. "Please!"

Ander sighs. "Where are you?"

"Kapital. At the door, say you’re with Valerio and you’ll be let in. We’re in the VIP section."

"Of course you are," Ander mutters. He hangs up. Just his pot luck: they’re at the club Omar works at. If there is anyone looking down on him wanting to give him a break, they’ll have Omar off shift tonight. But Ander doesn’t count on it.

It’s been long enough that he’s sure his mother is asleep, so he grabs a coat from by the door and treks to the club.

The cue, despite being late, is still miles long. People dressed up and rowdy in the line as they wait outside. Ander goes straight to the door.

"I’m with Valerio," he says, and the bouncer doesn’t even argue, he just opens the rail and Ander goes inside.

Ander walks with instinct to the VIP area of the club and as he gets to the top of the stairs, he barely scans the crowd for a minute before he see’s Caye running towards him.

"Ander! Thank God you’re here," she pants.

"Where is he? What’s going on?"

"He’s over there," she points and she’s right: in the middle of the dance floor Polo is dancing alone, spinning in boisterous circles and twirls. He looks drunk, stumbling and bumping into people. There’s a bottle clutched in his hand, and it’s large and looks like champagne.

"Everyone is here. Lu has already held Guzmán back once but I’m worried she won’t be able to do it again," Caye explains.

Ander sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Did you hear about the hearing?" Caye asks quietly.

Ander shakes his head.

"And I don’t want to know," he mutters before he’s moving, quickly descending the stairs and making his way into the dance floor. A quick glance to the side and Ander see’s Guzmán, Lu, Samuel and Rebeca standing by the bar. Ander doesn’t look long enough to see if Omar is there too.

Shoving his way through the crowd, he steps into the circle of space that’s formed around Polo and his twirling.

"Polo," Ander taps his shoulder and he turns around. "What are you doing?"

"Ander!" Polo’s eyes light up. He throws his arms up and shouts, "My man! You’re here!"

Ander barely has a second to react before Polo is throwing himself on him, bear hugging him.

"Polo, get off me," Ander snaps, wiggling free and grabbing the bottle from the other teens hand, "Fuck sake, give me that."

"Why?"

Ander puts the bottle down on one of the tables and looks at Polo exasperatedly. "You’re drunk, you need to go home."

"No way. Didn’t you hear? I’m a free man!"

"W-what?"

"Carla admitted it was all a lie. I’ve been let off. I’m not even a suspect anymore!"

Ander blinks, mouth agape slightly in shock. "She. . . she did _what?"_

Polo laughs. "I know right. I was surprised too, but now I’m celebrating. Celebrate with me," Polo pulls him close. "Come on, I know you want to."

"Polo, stop it," Ander snaps. "You’re a fucking state. Look at yourself."

"You always turn me on when you get angry."

"What—?"

Ander’s cut off when Polo smashes his lips against his, hands coming up to cup his cheeks and his neck. Ander is frozen in shock. The taste of booze floods his mouth when Polo pushes his tongue in his mouth but it seems to be the jump start Ander needs. He slams his hands on Polo’s shoulders and pushes him away roughly.

"Dammit, Polo," he sighs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. His heart is pounding and his chest is heaving, but he forces himself to calm down. "Can you please just—"

Ander doesn’t get to finish what he was going to say because someone shouts out and suddenly, Guzmán is storming towards them.

There’s an explosion of shouts and screams and suddenly, Guzmán is in front of them, fist flying up.

Ander doesn’t think. He shoves Polo behind him and stands in the way of Guzmán’s fury. Lu and Samuel come out of no where, grabbing Guzmán by the shoulders and Guzmán freezes when his eyes meet Anders.

"Don’t," Ander says. "Guzmán, don’t."

It takes a minute for Guzmán’s eyes to move to Ander, and when they do, the fury seems to burn brighter. "Why the hell not?!"

"Because he’s not worth it," Ander replies, not moving from between them. "You can’t fix everything with your fists."

"Oh yeah? Well going through the police didn’t seem to work so what’s left?"

"Not this," Ander shakes his head. "You can’t get justice like this."

"Justice?"

"Yes, justice!" Guzmán roars. He looks at Ander, "I should have known you would be the first to forgive him. After all, you kept his dirty little secret because you’re a little coward and now you’re defending him like all he did was steal some chewing gum from a corner store."

"Guzmán—"

"Hey!" Polo unsteadily pushes up against Ander’s back, "Don’t take your anger issues out on Ander!"

"Well, he won’t let me take it out on you!"

"There’s nothing to take out on anyone anymore!" Polo shouts. "You heard Carla! She made it up, it’s over!"

"It’s over when there’s justice, you psychopathic lying piece of shit!"

"Stop it!" Ander shouts, pushing Polo back behind him.

"Why are you still standing up for him?" Guzmán asks, voice dripping with venom.

Ander looks at him.

"Because life is too short," He mutters bitterly, barely loud enough to be heard about the music. He turns around and grabs Polo by the arm. "We’re leaving. Come on."

Polo stumbles after him. "But—"

"Shut the fuck up, Polo," Ander snarls as he shoves Polo in front of him and pushes them both back to the exit.

Outside, Polo barely makes it to the end of the road before he trips, catching himself on the wall and throws up.

"Nice, Polo," Ander mutters tiredly, standing back to avoid the splash. He pulls out his cigarettes and is about to light the one between his lips.

"Ander!"

He pauses, shoulders tensing. He looks to the side where the voice came from and relaxes at the sight of Valerio running towards them. Ander has very little belief Valerio would be running up to him to give them more grief.

"Uh, hi," Ander says around his cigarette.

Valerio stops in front of him, panting and hands on his hips. His floral shirt is unbuttoned and bare chest exposed. He looks at Polo and laughs before nodding at Ander.

"Can I have one of those?"

Ander holds the box out and open for him and Valerio practically dives to fish one out.

Ander lights his own before handing Valerio the lighter.

"Thank you," Valerio breathes with an exhale of smoke.

Ander nods. "No problem."

Valerio points at Polo, who’s still bent over and heaving. "Bit of a state, huh?"

"I’m sure you’ve been in worse."

"Touché," Valerio laughs, gleaming. "Want help getting him home?"

"You don’t need to help," Ander offers. "You should go back, actually. If they see you outside with me and him you’ll be blacklisted faster than you can sniff a line of coke."

Valerio throws his head back and laughs. "Nah. I’m alright. I’m blacklisted anyways."

Ander huffs a laugh and crosses his arms.

"Okay," he says softly. "Thank you. He’s kind of heavy when he’s pissed."

"Aren’t we all?" Valerio snickers.

Outside the club, Guzmán stands by the door, watching them.

_— tbc._


	3. they put me back in my cell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to warn you about the major component of ander/rebeca friendship in this story because that is my biggest bff ship after ander/guzman!

3

The doctor couldn’t have been more right when they said Ander was going to need people around to support him. Ander completes his first two sessions of chemotherapy alone and it has been harder than he thought to hide the effects. Even after the first session, Ander felt sick by the evening and spent most of the night hugging the toilet seat. The next day, he spent the whole day at school breathing slowly through his nose and unable to concentrate on anything other than his flipping stomach.

Ander also isn’t stupid - despite what the people around him may think from his actions. He knows that even after two sessions, he is looking sickly. He already looked worn down and fragile before, but now he can’t ignore the sight of his tired eyes and pale skin when he glances at himself in the mirror before school.

At school, the day after his second session, Ander is in English class when he’s hit with a wave of nausea that makes him feel like he’s spinning on the spot.

Rebeca looks up when she notices he’d suddenly stopped writing and frowns at him.

"Are you okay?" She asks, voice hushed.

Ander nods, not trusting to open his mouth.

"Are you sure?" Rebeca presses. "You don’t look too good, man."

"I’m fine," Ander manages through tight lips. The grip on his pen is hard enough to make the plastic groan. He tries to calm his breathing and momentarily closes his eyes in the hope to actually get a grip, but it manages to make him feel worse.

His mouth floods with saliva and his pulse races, panic flooding him.

"Ander, are you—"

Ander cuts her off by shooting out of the chair, sprinting out of the classroom before the teacher at the front can even shout at him. His legs feel as weak as a foal, barely carrying his weight as he runs to the closest toilet. He barely makes it inside the first cubicle before his knees collapse and he’s vomiting the coffee he drank that morning into the bowl.

Apart from the coffee he had because his mother made it for him before school, Ander hasn’t eaten much other than an apple and a spoonful of pasta in the last two days so it’s not long before he’s just retching and gagging. His throat burns and his eyes are blurred with tears as the only thing his body can repel is the stomach acid left in his stomach.

He’s left breathless. He collapses back against the toilet stall wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve which he knows it gross but he can’t find the energy to reach up and grab some tissues. The idea of moving is too much to even think about at the moment. He can’t stop his eyes from closing as his stomach seems to calm down and the energy his body once had oozes out of him.

Ander doesn’t know how long it is before the bathroom door opens and he springs up to flush the toilet, half way to his feet when a voice calls out.

"Ander?"

Sighing, Ander collapses back on the floor.

Rebeca’s head appears in the doorway a moment later. She looks down at him, clipped eyebrow raised.

"You know this is the boys bathroom, right?"

"You know it’s Wednesday, right? Hungover already?"

Ander huffs a laugh. "Sorry to disappoint. Not a hangover?"

Rebeca at least looks surprised. "Really? What’s got your stomach hating you that much?"

"I don’t know," Ander replies, swallowing around a raw and sore throat. "Maybe it was something I ate."

Rebeca says nothing as she holds out a water bottle for him.

"It’s unopened, I promise."

"Thanks," Ander wants to down the whole bottle, but he sips slowly in fear of it coming straight back up. It helps his throat and settles his stomach somewhat.

"I bought your bag and notes as well. Figured you wouldn’t want to go back into class after that."

"Thank you."

Rebeca shifts from foot to foot. "You sure you’re okay?"

"Yeah. I’m fine," Ander looks up at her. "Honest."

"Look, I haven’t known you that long but even I know when _you_ say 'honest', you’re normally not being honest."

Ander laughs tiredly.

"What do you want me to say?" He replies. "I just puked my guts up and now I’m sitting on the school toilet floor."

Rebeca looks at him for a long moment. And then, the corner of her lips twitch up on one side.

"I reckon that’s the most you’ve ever said to me."

Ander is so surprised he can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. He drinks some more water before the bell rings above them.

"You should get to class," he offers, "Wouldn’t want to get caught in the boys bathroom. People talk."

Rebeca huffs. "Don’t I know that."

She puts his bag down beside him.

"Thank you," Ander murmurs. "Really."

"No problem," Rebeca nods. "Try not to eat whatever it was that made you go green."

Ander chuckles. "I won’t."

When Rebeca leaves, Ander deflates. He rests his head on the wall and gives himself a few minutes to try and build enough energy to get up. He feels exhausted. He feels so tired that it makes the feeling he’s felt the last few months like a burst of energy. He’s never felt so drained, so scooped out and strung clean. He thought he felt tired before, but he had no idea how much worse he could feel.

Ander is pretty sure he could have dozed off because it feels like he’s blinked before the next bell is going off and classes are commencing again. He thanks the person who’s finally giving him some grace from above for not having anyone else walk in on him slumped on the floor.

It takes him 10 minutes for him to convince himself to get up. When he does, he feels shaky and sick again, but the idea of throwing up again actually makes him feel more tired. He leans against the sinks, head hanging low. When he looks up, he wishes Rebeca hadn’t come in. He does look awful, his skin looks almost grey and his eyes sunken as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. He can’t believe this: he only started his chemo just over a week and he already feels like a walking zombie. He’s not sure how long he’s going to be able to hide this if it’s only going to get worse.

The idea of going to classes for the rest of the day and facing everyone is the last straw. Ander leaves as soon as he’s sure his legs will carry him.

He doesn’t even attempt the walk. He phones a taxi and gets it to pick him up down the street where no one will see him waiting or climbing in. He knows his mother is going to want shout at him later for skipping classes but he can’t even force himself to think about it. He slumps boneless in the back of the cab the whole way home, eyelids heavy and body practically limp as he watches the world pass by in blurs.

When he gets home, he can’t make it to his room. He drops his bag on the floor and kicks his shoes off just before he collapses on the couch. He curls on his side, back to the room and face against the pillows. Sleep envelopes him immediately.

And that’s how his mother finds him hours later.

"Ander!"

Ander jolts. He blinks blearily, shaking the sleep away. It takes him a moment to realise where he is, and a moment to realise who shouted his name.

Oh shit. . .

"Ander!" The shrill voice cuts through the silence. "Ander, get up now!"

Ander jolts up in time to see his mother in the doorway. He swallows, feeling his skin go cold at the sight of her. She looks angry, and his mother doesn't do angry unless it's something bad that's happened at school. Normally that face is saved for the students she has to intimidated to keep in line, not for Ander.

"Are you kidding me?" She asks.

Ander sits up, ignoring the ache in his joints. "Mama, I—"

"You seriously skipped class to get some sleep?" Azucena cuts him off.

"I wasn’t feeling well," Ander says weakly.

"Yes, I heard," his mother snaps. "Why didn’t you come and see me before you decided to send yourself home?"

Ander looks down at his hands. "I felt really bad. I just wanted to come home."

His mother’s eyes are hard and furious. She doesn’t soften up at all as she practically glares at him.

"What’s going on with you?"

"What?" Ander stammers distractedly. "Oh. Nothing."

"Ander."

He ducks his head. "Yes?"

"Don’t lie to me," she practically growls.

"I’m not lying to you," Ander says, looking up.

"There is something going on."

"Why does there have to be something going on?"

"Because you’re not yourself!" Azucena practically screams, throwing her hands up. "You’re acting distant all the time. You don’t speak to Polo, or Guzmán and Omar has left—"

"Do you really expect Polo and Guzmán and I to still hang out?" Ander interrupts.

Azucena sighs.. Ander, don’t think I don’t know what’s going on at school too."

"What. . . what do you mean?" Ander knew the teachers weren't going to keep this from his mother, but wishful thinking had got the best of him once again. It's easy to ignore problems until they bite you in the ass, after all.

"Teachers talk, Ander. I know you’re failing all your classes, I know you’ve skipped more classes in the last few months than you have attended them. Now tell me what is going on! Is this because of Polo and Guzmán? Are you seriously going to let this harm your education and your future?"

"It’s. . . it’s nothing, mama."

"Stop lying!l" Azucena shouts. "All you ever do anymore is lie and skip class and sleep! I’m sick of it! This has been going on long enough, sort yourself out!"

"Mama—"

"Don’t, Ander," she holds a hand up. Her voice is heavy now, like dealing with Ander is exhausting her. "Not tonight. I’m tired of this."

She crosses the room and heads for the stairs, and she's half way up when Ander tries again.

"Mama, I. . ."

She looks over her shoulder. "You what, Ander?"

Ander feels his throat tighten. He can't tell her, but he doesn't have anything else as an excuse that will be good enough, that will make up for everything he is doing to her. He just wanted to make it easier for her, that's why he's kept the whole big secret from her.

"I. . ." He sighs, "I'm just sorry."

"Sometimes 'sorry' doesn't cut it, Ander."

Ander nods and closes his eyes. "I know."

When he opens his eyes, his mother is gone.

Careers day comes around faster than anyone expects. Azucena announces it the day before it happens and Guzmán is hit hard in the morning of the field day when he's reminded by his half conscious that Marina always dreamed of Oxford. The last few weeks, by working with Samuel to try and get justice because Polo is still walking the halls, Guzmán is being endlessly reminded of his sister and her unfortunate death. Every time Guzmán sees Polo in school, in class, or walking the hallways, he is overcome with a cold, consuming chill. He can't seem to control himself. He feels like a live wire, and Polo is the metal pole that pokes him and starts a spark.

Guzmán has never been one for devious plans. He's a man of action - and sometimes brutal and impulsive action. Guzmán reacts with his fists, not long-winded schemes and investigations. Guzmán doesn't want to catch Polo red-handed, he wants to make him feel the pain Guzmán has felt from the day Marina was murdered to now.

He feels like when he found out Polo, one of his oldest friends was the one who killed Marina, and Ander, his closest, bestest friend had kept it from him and lied to his face about the culprit, Guzmán feels as if he lost Marina all over again. He feels like he's grieving again, like he lost her yesterday instead of months ago.

Which is why, when he sees Polo of all people looking at Oxford, _Marina's_ dream school, he loses the small fraction of control he had left.

The moments after seeing Polo flipping through the Oxford brochure are a blur. One second, he see’s Polo looking down, standing beside the Oxford station, and the next Guzmán’s fist is throbbing and Polo has crashed through the university stand with a crash.

He blinks and suddenly, more than enough hands are pulling him back, rippling him away from Polo sprawled on the ground, looking at him with bewilderment.

"Guzmán," he recognises Lu in his ear, "Guzmán, calm down."

"Holy shit, man," Samuel mutters, perhaps not to Guzmán but in surprise and shock of what just happened.

Guzmán lets himself be dragged back and held as Valerio helps Polo up. He's already got a nasty bruise forming on his cheek, but he looks fine, completely with it and all. He looks nervous, perhaps a bit embarrassed, but certainly not like he's going to give Guzmán a taste of his own medicine.

"What in the world just happened!" Azucena is there then, storming down at the hall towards the chaos. She looks between Polo and Guzmán, before her eyes settle on Guzmán. "Did you do this?"

Guzmán says nothing.

Fury burns in Azucena's eyes. Her lips are purses tightly and she takes a deep breath as if she's a moment away from completely losing her temper. "Guzmán, what the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

Guzmán stays silent still. He’s too angry to try and justify himself to someone he knows won’t understand. He loves Azucena like his own mother, but she won’t listen to him. At school, she’s his headmaster, not his childhood friend’s mother.

"That is enough," Azucena snaps. She looks between Polo and Guzmán, "Do you hear me? I will not tolerate anymore of this. Actions like this are an embarrassment to this school—"

Azucena is cut off by someone behind them suddenly shouting.

"Mr Muñoz! Ander!"

Azucena turns around in time to see Ander hurrying through the students lingering in the corridor. One of the careers instructors is standing at the door of the room Ander had just come out of, watching him scurry down the hall.

"Ander?" Azucena frowns, "Ander, what’s wrong?"

"I’m fine," Ander replies, not looking at her or anyone else. Guzmán refuses to focus on the fact that Ander looks pale and a second away from bursting into tears.

Azucena tries to stop her son as he rushes past them. "Ander, what—"

"I said I’m fine!" Ander snaps, tone harsh as he dodges his mother and bursts through the school doors outside.

"I’ll speak to you two in a minute," Azucena says before she walks to the careers lady. "What happened?"

Lu leans close to him, "Guzmán."

He looks down at her.

"Why did you do that?" She asks. "Do you realise you could have been expelled?"

"He deserves it."

"He deserves a lot of things, Guzmán, but why now?" Samuel insists.

Guzmán sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He looks back at polo, who’s being fussed over by Valerio and Caye.

"Because Oxford was Marina’s dream," he murmurs.

Lu’s eyes fall closed and she rests a hand on Guzmán’s shoulder.

"Oh, Guzmán," she whispers.

"I wonder what was wrong with Ander," Samuel wonders aloud.

Guzmán looks at him sharply. "Who cares."

Samuel shrugs one shoulder. "I’ve never seen him freaked like that."

"That’s because you don’t know him," Guzmán growls. He is ignoring the tugging inside him reminding him that he hasn’t seen Ander freaked out like that in a long time. Truthfully, over the last few years, Ander seems to have become more and more hidden away in his own shell.

"Maybe he was asked about his precious tennis and he realised how much he’d disappointed his parents but throwing away his potential," Lu says harshly.

"Forget it, Lu," Guzmán shrugs off her hand. He takes a step back, eventually falling in step to walk away. "Leave me alone."

"Guzmán—"

Guzmán ignores them as he walks away, out the doors and onto the front steps. He doesn’t feel angry anymore, but deflated and tired. His knuckles ache and he feels washed with shame for what he’d done. He’d lost his temper again, and it felt wrong having Lu and Samuel pull him back instead of—

No. He shuts the thoughts down. There is no more Polo, Guzmán and Ander. That ship has sailed and sunk. It will never be them three again.

_— tbc._


	4. bury me in gold chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a lot happens in this chapter until the end but it's verrrrry important. happy reading, thank you so much!<3

4

Before Ander had given up tennis, he'd been a striving athlete. Despite smoking cigarettes and joints and drinking himself senseless pretty much every week, Ander was actually very physically fit. When he quit tennis and shattered his parents dreams for him, he didn't notice a change in his fitness ability until the impact of Polo's secret started to rot him from the inside.

During sports class a few days after the showdown between Guzmán and Polo, the teacher has them run some laps as a warm up. Ander can already feel the ache in his body even before he starts. He's the only one wrapped up, joggers and hoodie while almost everyone else is in shorts and t-shirts. Ander slacks in the laps. He barely lasts thirty seconds before he slows to a walk and has to walk the rest of the way around. The teacher shouts at him from the other side of the tracks but he doesn't have the energy to listen and run even if he wanted to.

After the laps, the teacher has them pair up and throw balls back and forth. Ander is paired with Rebeca but his mind is elsewhere. He's so tired and the sun is so bright and hurting his eyes he can barely focus on the ball going between them. Ander must un-focus for too long because he feels like he blinks and then a ball smacks him in the shoulder. He grunts, surprised, watching the ball roll away before looking up at Rebeca.

She throws her hands up, "What the hell, Muñoz?"

Ander sighs, bending down to pick it up. He throws it with an aching arm, rolling his shoulder to try and relieve the pain throbbing from there.

"Are you alright?"

He looks to his side to see Carla, who's looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Ander nods. "Just got distracted."

"Is that why you couldn't run a lap today when normally you could run circles around us all?"

Ander sighs again. Closing his eyes briefly. He manages to open them in time to catch the ball Rebeca throws at him.

"I'm just having an off day, Carla," he says. "I'm fine."

"You've been having a lot of off days lately, Ander."

Ander glances across at her. "Wh—"

"I've known you for a long time, Ander," she says softly. "We may never have been the closest of friends but we're friends none the less, despite what's happened. You know you can talk to someone if something is going on."

Ander scoffs. "Like who? Guzmán? Polo?"

Carla sighs softly. The teacher calls for them to stop and she turns to him fully, placing her hand on his arm. "Forgetting them two, you have more friends than just Guzmán and Polo. You may not realise it, Ander, but you're more than just Guzmán and Polo's friend."

Ander exhales tiredly. "Thanks, Carla. But I told you, I'm fine. Promise."

"Promises stop meaning anything to me a long time ago," Carla replies.

 _Doesn't surprise me_ , Ander thinks.

Ander just laughs softly. "Sorry. Just trust me, I'm fine."

Carla doesn't believe Ander one bit. She wasn't lying with what she said, the two of them have known each other for years but they have never been close, never hung out just the two of them for fun. They've grown up together in the same classes and had the same friends, but they've never had the friendship like Carla had with Lu or Ander had with Polo and Guzmán. But that doesn't mean Carla doesn't _know_ Ander, perhaps more than he realises. Ander is practically the whole definition of an introvert; closed off and quiet, and doesn't seem to ever partake in any school gossip or drama unless he's dragged into it by Polo and Guzmán. But he's also kind, funny, and manages to 90% of the time hide how he's really feeling or any troubles.

However, Carla is not that stupid. She can see something is happening to Ander, she can see something is tearing him up more than when Polo was manipulating him to keep his dirty little secret.

There's something else, and Carla knows Ander is never going to tell her but maybe he'll tell someone else.

Carla finds Guzmán as he's leaving the changing room after gym class. She marches up to him, grabbing his arm and dragging him into an empty classroom before he can protest.

She shoves him in and closes the door behind her.

Guzmán throws his arms up, "What the hell, Carla?"

"Look, I know you hate me right now for what happened at the court hearing and I am not explaining myself to you right now. What I need you to do is listen and listen _good_ because this has gone on long enough," Carla rants. She stops to take a breath, to actually see if Guzmán is going to protest or snap at her.

Guzmán is just watching her closely. He leans back, resting against one of the tables. "Fine. Go on."

"It's about Ander."

"Oh, for fu— no," Guzmán shakes his hand, crossing his arms. "No. No I am not listening to this. I don't want to hear anything from _you_ about that—"

"Guzmán!" Carla shouts, at the end of their patience. "You don't need to forgive Polo. He was your best friend, and he did the unthinkable and that's fine, you hate him for the rest of your god damn life, I don't care! But you need to hear and you need to understand that Ander was put in the worst position possible. He didn't keep it from you to hurt you, he kept it from you to protect you, and protect Polo."

Guzmán scoffs, looking away.

"Do you know that Polo tried to kill himself?"

Guzmán's eyes flick towards her.

"I'll take that as a no," she concludes, pursing her lips. "So did you know that Caye was the one who found him and she called Ander? That Ander was the one who took him to hospital? Do you know how much that must have fucking terrified Ander? To see one of his best friends trying to take his own life over the s secret that Ander was making him share?"

"He should have let him die."

Carla shakes her head. "You don't mean that, and you don't get it. Ander was terrified, he felt guilty because then Polo put the secret on him to tell you. Polo refused, and he manipulated and blackmailed Ander not to tell you."

"How do you know this?"

"Because Polo told me," Carla admits. "I was the first one he told when he did it, I was the one that undressed him out of the bloody clothes. We were in it together from then, and he told me when he told Ander. He told me that Ander wasn't going to tell you a thing, that he had it sorted."

Guzmán just huffs, shaking his head.

"That doesn't mean anything. All it shows to me is that Ander is as spineless as I thought he was."

"And you're as heartless as I thought," Carla seethes.

Guzmán narrows his eyes. "What did you just say?"

"If you can't see that this was literally eating Ander alive keeping Polo's secret then you obviously don’t know Ander at all!" Carla practically shouts. "Ander was tearing himself apart to protect you and Polo, because he cared about you both and he was put in the most difficult position out of all of us. He didn't choose to know this, he didn't choose to be apart of it, Polo threw it on it him like it was nothing and then expect Ander to act as normal."

"Why are you doing this?" Guzmán asks. "Why are you doing this _now_?"

Carla sighs, shoulder slumping. "Because Ander is being punished more than anyone, and he’s the last one out of all of us who deserve it. There’s something wrong with him, Guzmán."

"There’s a lot fucking wrong with him," Guzmán growls as he begins to make his way towards the door.

Carla steps in his path, looking up at him through sharp eyes.

"There’s something _seriously_ wrong with him. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed," Carla snaps. Guzmán takes a step back, watching her. "He’s skipping class. He looks ill and tired and thin—"

"Ander has always been skinny," Guzmán argues.

"He could barely run ten seconds this morning in gym," Carla deadpans. "He’s suffering from something and at the same time he’s been alienated for something that wasn’t his fault."

"Stop saying that!" Guzmán roars. "Stop saying it wasn’t his fault! He chose to keep the secret for Polo, he chose to lie to my face, he chose to lie like a coward instead of coming clean like he should have done!"

Carla can’t stop the look of shock on her face.

"Fine," she says after a minutes of silence. "Fine. Ander fucked up, he fucked up _real_ bad, but you and I and everyone here knows Ander and you know he would never, _ever_ do something to purposely hurt you. He was put between a rock and a hard place and he’d rather be crushed by both than drag either of you guys in with him."

Guzmán rubs a hand down his face and steps back. He doesn’t look at Carla but instead a spot on the floor. Silence stretches between them and Carla feels bone-tired already.

"You don’t have to forgive him, or any of us," Carla says, looking down at her shoes and swallowing around the lump in her throat. "But, if you’re going to forgive anyone first, please let it be Ander. I’m worried about him, and I need you to worry about him too."

Guzmán continues to stare at the floor, barely blinking.

"Don’t you miss him?"

Guzmán scoffs, looking out the window. "Do you really think I’m that heartless? Of course I fucking miss him! I miss them both, they were my best friends, Ander practically my brother since we were old enough to remember. But it doesn’t matter a damn thing anymore and nothing they can do will change that."

"So you don’t care at all that something could be wrong with Ander?" Carla asks. "After everything you’ve been through."

"Not at all," Guzmán nods. "Maybe he should have thought about everything we’ve been through before he did what he did."

Carla sighs, shaking her head. "Fine. I can’t do anything more than I already have done."

"You shouldn’t have done _anything_."

"Why not? One of my friends is hurting and I want to help."

"You didn’t help me."

Carla feels like she’s been punched in the chest. "No. I guess I didn’t. I was trying to help Polo, and I was wrong for that. Maybe this is my way of trying to redeem myself."

Guzmán scoffs but says nothing else, continuing to stare out the window.

"Think about it, Guzmán," Carla adds, before she opens the door and leaves before Guzmán can object anymore.

Guzmán tries to forgot about what Carla said. He tries to get it off his mind the moment he walks out of the classroom.

Over the next few days, it plays on Guzmán's thoughts like a broken record. He can't stop himself from looking across in class, his eyes instantly finding Ander at another table. The other teen always looks distracted, always looks tired and fed up. Guzmán always manages to think enough about what happened to make him riled and angry again, but then he sees Ander's tired shuffle through the corridors or the way his shoulders are so cruelly slumped that the anger diminishes slightly. Guzmán is still incredibly furious, but Carla's words play on his conscience. Guzmán is reminded of the years of friendship they had, the way Guzmán knows Ander inside and out. He's got some things wrong in the past, and somethings have been a surprise but since Ander's outburst when he quit tennis and how he hide his sexuality for years, Guzmán has learned the new side of Ander and was reminded of Ander's skill of hiding, of faking and pretending. He pretends better then any of them, hides how he feels like a compulsive liar.

Days after Carla confronted him in the changing rooms, Guzmán's just left after changing out of his swim clothes when he stops, dismissing Lu and walking back. Enough is enough, he decides. The sooner he confronts Ander and finds out what's going on the sooner he can go back to hating his guts and working with Samuel to get Polo's justice.

Prepared to storm in and bombard Ander, Guzmán finds himself stopping abruptly in the doorway of the changing room when he sees Ander slither out of the shower. He has a towel wrapped round his waist, but what stops Guzmán short is the drastic physical change that captures his eyes.

Ander has always been skinny. Out of the three of them, Ander has always, despite being a pro tennis player, been the smallest. He's never been the one with the most defined stomach or the bulging arm muscles, but instead dainty wrists and narrow shoulders. Ander has always been lean and slender, on the skinny side while being athletic at the same time.

But now, Ander is _thin_. His ribs are defined and his stomach is like an in-cave. His hipbones stick out underneath the towel around his waist. His wrists are knobbly and fragile looking, and when he walks to his locker Guzmán can see his scarily defined spine that sticks out underneath the tightly stretched skin. Guzmán briefly looks away when Ander drops the towel to slide on some boxers, and when he does Guzmán sees his legs: his thighs that are now small enough Guzmán could probably wrap his hand around them.

Guzmán is surprised and slightly worried, because if the grief of Polo's reveal and Guzmán hating him has done this much damage, then maybe Ander was more fragile than Guzmán originally thought. It's when Ander is half dressed and is putting on his shirt when Guzmán's heart drops to the floor.

Needle marks and bruises blossom the inside of Ander's arms. Red pinpricks and purple smudges paint the inside of his elbows. Alarm bells go off his Guzmán's head, anger boils in his stomach like a hot ball and suddenly, he can't wait for Ander to come out.

"So this is what you’ve got everyone worrying about you over?" Guzmán blurts suddenly, voiceharsh and cold. He steps inside, eyes hard and glaring as he approaches his ex-friend. "Fucking drugs?"

Ander had jumped out of his skin when Guzmán first spoke. He looks around at him in surprise, blinking. "W-what?"

"What is it you’re taking?" Guzmán demands, rounding the benches and standing in front of him. "'Cause a few joints and a couple of sniffs of coke don’t leave those types of marks!"

Ander still seems incredibly confused. Maybe it's because Guzmán is talking to him or accusing him openly of drugs, but he genially looks like he has no idea what Guzmán is on about.

"Guzmán, what are you talking about?"

"Don’t play fucking dumb with me," Guzmán snarls.

Ander shakes his head. "I. . . I don’t know what—"

"I just saw the inside of your arms, Ander!" Guzmán shouts. He laughs harshly, almost hysterically, "And now it all makes sense! The nose bleeds, skipping class, the weight loss, the sudden friendship with Valerio!"

Ander frowns, taking a step back. "Valerio? What friendship—"

"I saw you guys at your locker, and at the club when you heroically saved Polo," Guzmán hisses. "Is he your dealer? You gonna start shagging him too like you did Omar?"

Ander’s eyes widen like he’s been slapped.

"I knew it wasn’t going to end with a bit of weed," Guzmán chuckles. "You really are _that_ stupid!"

"Guzmán, you don’t—"

"Don't even go there, Ander!" Guzmán shouts over him. " _Fuck_. Is this some kind of way to make everyone forgive you? Guilt trip them by falling into drugs and getting hurt so everyone thinks is us who damaged you when really it's your own stupid decisions?"

"What?" Ander cries. "No! It's not—"

"Stop denying it! Your arms look like an a-class meth addict and you've lot weight like an anorexic!"

"It’s not drugs, Guzmán, I swear!"

Guzmán scoffs. "Do you really expect me to fucking believe you?"

"No," Ander shakes his head. "But I also didn’t expect you to give two shits anymore."

"I don't, but Carla gave a shit about you and told me to see what the hell was going on. She was worried about you, and it turns out she didn't need to stress herself because it's only your selfish self-destruction that's rotting you from the inside."

Ander blinks. "Carla did what?"

"This has to stop."

"Guzmán, please, don't—"

"Your mum can deal with it. My years of babysitting your dumb ass are over."

Ander's eyes widen and horror strikes his face. "No. N-no, Guzmán. Don't tell my mum—"

"I'm doing you a favour, be grateful I'm not walking away like I should be. You don't deserve to overdose, Ander, you deserve to suffer for what you did like Polo is going to."

Guzmán almost immediately feels bad for what he said, but he's so angry he's blinded by the impact of his cruel words. Ander's eyes are brimmed with tears, maybe from what Guzmán said or because he's been caught but Guzmán couldn't care less. As soon as he tells Azucena, the sooner this is no longer his problem.

Guzmán storms out of the locker room, Ander shouting after him. He storms through the corridor, making a beeline for the headmistresses office.

"Guzmán!" Ander shouts, chasing his tail. "Guzmán, stop!"

"Not happening," Guzmán yells back, no fault in his step.

A hand wraps around his arm, pulling him to a stop and yanking him around. He faced Ander's white pale face and huge eyes, but all he sees is red.

"Guzmán, please, let me explain—"

"Explain it to your fucking mother, I don't care," Guzmán snaps, snatching his arm and continuing his march. "She can deal with your junkie-ass, not me."

"It's not drugs!" Ander cries.

Guzmán laughs loudly. "Wow! I'm so convinced!"

"Guzmán! Please!"

Guzmán ignores him, still storming on. A moment passes, he dodges a few students and then, a shout comes from behind him that has him stopping short.

"It's from the chemo!"

Guzmán freezes. He can suddenly hear his heartbeat in his ears like repeated gunshots. He turns around slowly. Ander had stopped a few paces behind him. His jacket and his bag hang hand. All the students around them have stopped.

"The what?" Guzmán croaks.

Ander sighs, looking down. He takes a long time to reply.

"The chemo. I'm having chemotherapy," he admits. "The marks. . . They're from the hospital."

Guzmán's chest feels tight, breathing is suddenly hard like his lungs forgot how to work.

"Why are you having chemotherapy?"

Ander shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. When he looks up, he meets Guzmán's eyes and looks more defeated than he ever has.

"Because. . ." He rasps, voice barely loud enough to hear in the silent hallway. "B-because I have cancer."

Guzmán feels like he’s been punched. The breath feels like it’s been sucked out of his lungs and they’ve collapsed like punctured balloons. His ears are ringing, every nerve in his body feels like it’s tingling.

Ander’s voice fills his head like a broken record.

_Cancer._

_Cancer._

_Cancer._

Guzmán shakes his head. "You. . . you have. . ."

Ander shuts his eyes as a tear falls and he runs a hand through his hair. He opens his mouth, closing it again. He looks so fragile, so lost.

Guzmán notices her a moment before she speak.

"Ander," Azucena says, voice cracking.

Ander’s eyes go wide and if possible, his face goes more white. He looks like a ghost as he turns enough to look over his shoulder. It must dawn on them both at the same time that Ander’s mother heard the whole thing, and by the looks of it she had no idea her own son had cancer.

"Ander, you—"

The moment Azucena takes a step towards Ander it’s like a gunshot is set and Ander is turning around, running out of the school with energy he hasn’t had for weeks.

Guzmán watches his retreating back with a heavy heart and a sinking stomach.

His best friend has cancer.

_— tbc._


	5. cross the ocean of my mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long. i'm working like 90 hours a week at the moment and when i'm not at work i'm sleeping. 
> 
> this chapter is mostly just ander's monologue crisis and then lots and lots of talking, but for the first time in this story there's a wee break in the clouds of ander misery. 
> 
> hope you enjoy <3

5

For the last weeks, Ander has barely had the energy to make it through the day, but after his confession in the corridor he manages to muster up the ability to run away. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but he manages to make it to the valley with the concrete walkways. He’s hot and cold at the same time, a sheen of sweat drying on him and making him chilled. His chest feels tight and for ages, it feels like he’ll never be able to breathe again.

He collapses against the end of the walkway by the stairs, knees going weak but he manages to stay upright, though barely. He closes his eyes, trying to close out the world he just revealed his secret to. His lungs burn and his stomach is flipping summersaults. He wants to cry, but he feels too empty, as if the obliterating shock has blown away his ability to do anything but feel weak.

He tilts his head back, forcing himself to breathe through his nose. The air is cold and fresh, flooding his lungs with chill but he doesn’t care because it feels good to be able to breathe properly. His heart is still pounding, his blood roaring in his ears but he feels less like the world is falling out beneath his feet.

Behind his closed eyelids, he relives it all again. He sees Guzmán's disgust of him turning into shock, confusion. He sees everyone around him, faces that in that moment seemed like strangers instead of his classmates. He sees his mothers face, the horror in her eyes and her slack mouth at what she'd accident heard. Ander didn't want anyone to find out, but he certainly didn't want his mother to find out by him shouting it out in the school hallway.

He feels awful, both physically and emotionally. His body feels like everything inside him is repelling him, but his chest also feels heavy against his lungs when he thinks about what just happened.

He feels like he’s drowning. The exhaustion, the guilt, the fear, it all swarms him like a wave of water. It surrounds him, suffocates him. Overwhelmed doesn’t even begin to start to explain the crushing water that fills chest.

How could he do this to his mother? She’s been through so much already, from the messy divorce with his father to all the chaos caused at Las Encinas since Marina’s death. She doesn’t need this too, doesn’t need Ander to burden her even more. She deserved more than to find out by him screaming it out in the school halls too.

Ander has never hated himself so much. From quitting tennis, to lying for Polo, to breaking up with Omar and now this, he spends every waking moment waiting for the floor to swallow him whole.

He also doesn't understand why Guzmán came to him in the first place. All the teen has expelled since before the summer was that he hated Ander just as much as he hated Polo, that Ander was just as guilty as Polo despite having nothing to do with the actual death of Marina. Guzmán has made it more than clear, more than once, that Ander was as dead to him as Polo and Ander was accepting it, perhaps too easy, for Guzman's sake. Ander had stepped back, taken the blows Guzmán shot at him because he _deserves_ it, and he knows he deserves it.

So why did Guzmán care about the thought of him doing drugs? He knows drugs are a sensitive subject with Guzmán, from his parents dying from their addiction and then Guzmán becoming hooked during his pit of grief over Marina, but why did he seem so determined to tell Ander's mother?

Subconsciously, Ander's hand hovers above the crook of his elbow where the stark white bandage usually sits above the bruised and punctured skin. He'd taken the bandage off after gym to shower and not get it wet, just when Guzmán dropped by and clearly saw them, thinking the worst.

Drugs. Guzmán thought Ander was into drugs now, and not just a couple of spliffs but the hard, dangerous stuff, even worse than a bit of powder up your nose.

The hand on his arm drops to his side, fingers skimming the bulge in his jacket pocket. He looks down, fishing his hand inside and pulling the box and lighter out.

He hasn't smoked since his diagnosis, but he still carries his cigarettes and a lighter round. He doesn't know why, maybe because he hasn't actually felt well enough to smoke for weeks and if he always has them on him then maybe he'd want one, or maybe it's just some cheesy symbolism he doesn't understand. Either way, he plucks one out of the box and lights it between his lips.

The first toke burns his throat and he fights the cough tickling his lungs. The second and third make his head spin, and the sensation of his head floating off his shoulders overwhelms him. He gets used to it soon, and he's taking drags from it like he's starved.

He looks out over the valley and trees around him, and he doesn't know how long it's before he hears the approaching footsteps behind him, but he's halfway through the cigarettes.

Ander doesn't turn around. He doesn't want to know if it's Guzmán or his mother or Polo or who the hell has found him.

They come to stand next to him wordlessly and the buzz cut hair gives them away instantly.

They both stand together in silence for a long time. Ander refuses to look aside and meets Guzmán's eyes when he sees the other teen glance at him a few times.

The silence begins to eat him like a parasite and he finally breaks the silence.

"How did you know to come here?"

"A lucky guess. This place seems to be a calling when you want to run away from something."

They don’t say anything for a long time. Ander finishes his cigarette and stabs the dead bud against the concrete wall.

"I haven’t seen you smoking in a while."

_That’s because you haven’t been around me in a while,_ Ander thinks. "It’s not recommended in chemo. Neither is drinking, or basically anything fun."

"It’s not recommended anytime. It’s bad for you."

"Well, we do a lot of things that are bad for us, no? We’re not exactly angels."

Guzmán exhales heavily next to him and Ander just looks down at his feet. He feels uncomfortable, tense and if he had the energy, ready to bolt.

"How long?"

Ander swallows around a dry lump in his throat. "Since it all started or since the chemo?"

"Everything."

"The nosebleeds and headaches started months ago, before summer."

"Is that's why you went to the doctors?"

"No. I found a. . . I found a lump and I started passing out so I went to the doctors," Ander runs a hand through his hair. "That was about three weeks ago."

Guzmán nods, jaw clenched tightly shut.

"When did you start the. . . the chemo?"

"Two weeks ago," Ander murmurs, looking down at his bony hands. "I’ve had four sessions. I've still got another 12 weeks until they. . . do another test to see if it's working or not."

"Shit," Guzmán sighs, rubbing his eyes. " _Shit_."

Silence stretches between them as neither of them know what to say. Ander can hear the birds in the trees around them, hear the slight wind bristling through the forestry.

"How do you feel?"

Ander bursts out a sudden laugh. "Are you kidding me? It's been two weeks and I don't know if it's fucking worth it."

Guzmán looks up. "Ander, what the hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm tired, Guzmán," Ander sighs in defeat. "I’m always _so tired_ , and I always feel sick and sore and shit and I just keep thinking that maybe if I stop the chemo, all of that will stop as well."

"The chemo is helping you."

"Is it?" Ander looks across at him with tears in his eyes. "Look at me, Guzmán. It's rotting me from the inside," he looks away, out across the valley. "A lot is rotting me from the inside."

"Ander—"

"You shouldn't be speaking to me, Guzmán," Ander interrupts, shaking his head. "What I did. . ."

"Was fucked up," Guzmán finishes shortly, and Ander squeezes his eyes closed, preparing for the shit to rip into him. "You seriously fucked up, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to fully forgive you yet, but Carla made me see that there are two sides to the coin. And right now, making sure you don’t go through this alone is more important than making you feel like shit for trying to protect me and Polo."

Ander opens his eyes with defeat. "Guzmán—"

"No, listen to me," Guzmán interrupts. "Whatever happened between us doesn’t matter right now. When you kick cancers ass and are well again, then you can grovel and beg for my forgiveness, but right now you focus on the chemo and sticking around long enough for me to make you feel like shit again."

Ander laughs, shoulders shaking, "Wow. So kind."

Guzmán grins, "I have a reputation to uphold. You know me, can't have people thinking I've gone soft."

"We all know you're really soft, Guzmán."

Guzmán lightly punches him in the arm and huffs with no heat.

"Asshole," he mutters.

Ander looks out around them again, sighing. His shoulders slump further and every bone feels heavy with fatigue.

"You know," he murmurs, "this is where I first met Omar."

"Really? Here?" Guzmán looks around.

"Twice. The first time was with Christian, the second time I didn’t even know it was going to be him."

" _Very_ romantic."

Ander huffs a laugh, turning to the side so his body is facing Guzmán. He looks out, arms crossed against his chest. He can feel Guzmán staring at him.

"Does," Guzmán starts, clearing his throat slightly. "Does Omar know?"

Ander shakes his head. "No. We, uh. . . We broke up a while ago."

"Why?"

Ander shrugs, looking down at his feet. "Doesn't matter."

"I didn't realise."

"No offence, but it wasn't something I thought you'd want to hear when you hated my guts. Or maybe you did, maybe it would have actually been quite satisfying."

Guzmán chuckles slightly, "It definitely doesn't satisfy me now, but Omar isn't important. You are, and what you've been going through. . ."

Ander shakes his head, "You don't have to say anything—"

"No," Guzmán interrupts. "Ander, this is serious. No more self-sacrificing shit, especially not with me."

"Sorry."

"And stop apologising," Guzmán adds seriously.

"I have a lot to apologise for."

Guzmán nods. "You do, but not right now. Right now, we need to get you home so you can talk to your mother."

"That's the last thing I want to do," Ander sighs, shaking his head.

"Probably, but you have to do this," Guzmán insists. "How long did you think you were going to be able to keep this from her?"

Ander braves looking his best friend in the eye, and hopes he's masking his sadness as well as he hopes.

"I don't know. Until I figured how to tell my mother that her child was dying."

"You're not dying."

"Don't do that. Please. Don't pretend this isn't going to end exactly how we all know it is."

"It might not. You're going to survive this, Ander, and I want to be by your side when the doctors tell you you've kicked cancers ass."

Ander smiles sadly, and Guzmán lightly punches his arm.

"I mean it, you jackass," Guzmán insists.

"Is it too early to say I’ve missed you?"

"No, because I’ve missed you too."

"You have?"

"Of course I have," Guzmán laughs. "You’re my best friend, you have been for a long time."

"Then can you tell me something?"

Guzmán's eyebrows pinch in confusion but he nods. "Sure. Anything."

"What changed?"

"What do you mean?" Guzmán replies slowly.

"What made you come to the locker room? Why did you. . . Why did you want to see me?"

Guzmán sighs, shifting on his feet. He doesn't look at Ander when he speaks, but instead out to the view.

"Carla came and spoke to me. She. . . She told me that maybe you keeping Polo's secret wasn't done to hurt me but to protect me. It was still stupid, mind you, but she told me that Polo blackmailed you, and I guess I do understand that you were trying to protect me."

"It would have hurt you just as much if I told you than if I didn’t," Ander mumbles miserably. "I didn’t. . . I didn’t know what to do."

"I know that. _Now_ I know that. Before, I couldn’t understand it. I was so angry, and I still am. But Carla. . . what she said was all true."

Ander meets Guzman’s gaze and nods. "Okay. Thank you."

Guzmán claps his shoulder, "Now, come on. We need to get you home, you have a worried sick mother waiting for you."

Ander lets out a long moan and hangs his head. "Can we just stay here a little longer?"

"Nope," Guzmán quips, popping the 'p'. He slings an arm around Ander’s shoulder, picking up the sick teens rucksack and leading him back along the concrete pier. "The longer we stay, the more cigarettes you’re going to smoke and your body does not need that overload right now. You also look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up and you need to talk to your mother before you have a power nap."

"Wow. I feel so eager to go now."

"You gotta do it sooner or later. You can’t keep avoiding this, man."

"I can."

Guzmán scoffs. "Oh, yeah? How?"

"I’ll figure it out," Ander grumbles childishly.

Guzmán laughs boldly, using his hand on Ander’s shoulder to push his head to the side so he can kiss his hair loudly.

They’re almost half way home before Ander speaks again.

"She’s going to be so mad," he murmurs, chewing his bottom lip.

"Maybe," he replies honestly, and Ander is grateful he’s honest with him about it. He’s not sure what he would have done and Guzmán had given him some bullshit about his mother not being angry at him keeping such a secret for so long. "But she’s going to be more scared."

"I didn’t want to do this to her," Ander admits. "I don’t want to hurt her, that’s why I couldn’t tell her."

"She’ll understand that, and while you’re confession probably wasn’t the most personal, it’s good that’s out now and you guys can deal with this together, as you should have been all along."

"I don’t want to put her through this."

"And she doesn’t want you to go through it alone," Guzmán counters. "Ander, you can’t choose who cares about you. She’s your mother, she has more of a right than anyone to be by your side."

"I know."

"I know you know. Now stop acting like a brat and man up, yeah?"

"You’re really winning with the supportive lines," Ander grumbles.

"You love it really."

And Ander does. He’s missed this, more than anything. He’s missed the joking, the shoulder hugs, the easement. He’s missed _Guzmán,_ his best friend since he can remember. They’ve been through everything together, far more than a pair of teenagers should have been.

The walk home takes both too long and not long enough. By the time they get to his front gate, his legs feel numb and his knees are as weak as broken deck chairs, but he doesn’t want to go in. He’d rather stand outside the gate for the rest of his life than go inside and face one person he shouldn’t have ever kept something like this from.

"Hey," Guzman’s hand lands gently on his shoulder. "You can go inside."

"I know."

"You _should_ go inside."

"I know."

Guzmán sighs, squeezing his shoulder before letting his hand drop to his back. He reaches around Ander and opens the gate.

"Come on. We have to do this."

"We?"

"Yeah. You’re not doing anything alone anymore, go it?"

Ander lets out a shaky breath and nods.

"Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet," Guzmán winks, leading Ander inside.

The house is silent. The door clicking shut echoes through the whole building. Ander can barely hear anything over the roaring in his ears. The clamps are back around his lungs. His chest is being crushed by the flood. His knees are overwhelmed with pins and needles.

"Ander?"

And then it all stops.

He hears his own short intake of breath a second before his mother is in the living room. She stands in the middle, arms limp by her sides. Her jaw is slack and her face is pale, eyes bloodshot.

"Ander," she whispers. He can see the tears that fill her eyes, threatening to spill. "Ander, I—

"Don’t," Ander interrupts, voice barely audible. His vision blurs and his lip wobbles. "Please, just. . . don’t."

He steps forward slowly, barely making it into the room before his mother is running forward and throwing her arms around him. He’s enveloped with a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. He melts against her, like butter in a hot bowl.

"Mama," he whispers into her shoulder. "I’m so sorry."

His mother rips back from him. Tear tracks glisten down her cheeks.

"What an earth are you sorry for?" She asks.

Ander shakes his head. "Everything. Absolutely everything."

"You have nothing to apologise for," she cups his cheeks, looking him dead in the eye. " _Nothing_. You hear me? I should be the one apologising. I should have noticed, I should have said something or done something. You’ve. . ." she sobs harshly, "you’ve been going through all of this alone, going through so much alone for such a long time and I. . . I should have been there for you."

"You couldn’t have done anything. I haven’t told you anything—"

"I’m your mother, I should have noticed. Instead I just got angry at the small things."

Ander smiles sadly. "I wouldn’t have told you anything even if you’d asked."

"Of course you wouldn’t have, my brave, stupid boy," she smiles sadly, broken. "You’re not alone now. Understand? Whatever happens, whatever we have to do, we’re going to do it together."

Ander nods, resting his head on her shoulder again as she wraps him up like he was the small boy he feels like.

"Together," he repeats.

Neither of them heard when Guzmán left. Instead, they stood like that for a long time. In the middle of the living room, in each others arms.

Together.

_— tbc._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't proof read this yet. apologies for any mistakes <3


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